By the Blade
by Pereybere
Summary: Women are being murdered throughout the city in a string of gruesome mutilations. As each one is identified by their bones, a murderous story unfolds.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **By the Blade

**Disclaimer: **The majority of these characters do not belong to me, but rather to Fox.

**Rating: **Who knows?

**Summary: **Women are being murdered throughout the city in a string of gruesome mutilations. As each one is identified by their bones, a murderous story unfolds.

**A/N: **I have the writer's version of itchy feet, these days. I cannot seem to stay settled on one story, and when this chapter is posted, I'll have four unfinished works, and I apologise for the arsing around, but at the moment, my inspiration is leaping all over the place. Sorry.

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Jerry Ambrose carried a Glock 17 everywhere he went.

He'd been taught that, when possible and with anonymity in mind, he should use it infrequently, but if his life was in danger, to use it with impunity. Since acquiring the weapon, he'd grown accustomed to its weight against his hip.

Tonight, he held it in his hand, and the smell of sulphur hung stiflingly in the air. On the ground, the freshly fallen snow was stained crimson with Belinda Giles' blood. She was _not_ supposed to die like this. He wasn't even sure if she was supposed to die at all.

He was merely a messenger. His job was to find the women, lure them into his car and take them where they were supposed to go. The addresses were always different, and he was paid a massive amount of money to charter beautiful women around the city. He generally didn't mind.

Occasionally, like tonight, they turned on him like rabid dogs, and he was forced to shoot. He'd done it four times in the past year, which was small potatoes, really.

Jerry had seen the woman's ID in her purse, nestled next to a box of Trojan. He'd picked her up in the seediest part of the city and he knew by her red fishnet stockings, mini skirt and six inch heels that she worked the streets. Few people would miss her.

He touched her side with the tip of his boot, and she rolled over easily, her arms sprawled through the snow; a corpse making a snow angel. He located the bullet that had passed right through her body, and tucked it into his pocket. Belinda's enormous green eyes stared unseeingly at the clouds, bulging still with unshed snow.

He almost felt sad. It was only four weeks until Christmas. Maybe the prostitute had kids, and she whored around to earn money for her children. He'd seen it happen. The amount of call girls doubled during the season, and he had no way to be certain that the woman at his feet wasn't one of the desperate no-hopers searching in vain for a way to look after their kids.

He sniffed the icy air into his lungs and swallowed. There was no time to wonder about the dead woman's life. Five thousand dollars lay in the balance, depending on whether he found tonight's required element; leggy redheaded woman. Belinda had fitted the bill perfectly – if only she hadn't struggled.

Jerry straightened his jacket and turned towards his car, snagging her ID from the purse again and tossing it into the harbour. It landed with a splash and sank to the bed below. No one would care enough to go diving for it. She was a whore, and the police department had enough on their hands with serious people to worry about the underbellies of society.

Turning on the heat inside his car, he rubbed his frostbitten hands together and then reversed his vehicle. It was already midnight. He only had until one thirty.

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_Jeffersonian Institute,_

_7.30am_

"What are we working on?" Temperance Brennan asked, stepping into the restricted lab. She looked tired, and when questioned by her assistant, she vaguely revealed that she'd been working most of the night on her book. Zach didn't voice his opinion that she worked too much.

"Have you spoke to Booth this morning?" He asked, instead. Brennan rose a tapered cinnamon eyebrow towards the skylights above their heads.

"Should I have?" Zach half nodded.

"This is one of his," he said, gesturing to the bloody stained sheet that covered the remains. "He just left." Brennan peeled the cover back, and was silently thankful that she hadn't eaten, yet. She had a strong stomach. Stronger than most people she knew, but the remains depicted a horror scene.

"Good God," she whispered, glancing upwards to her assistant. "Booth brought this in?" Brennan thought of her partner, called in so early to such a appalling incident. Zach nodded silently. "Did he give you any details?" She wondered why Zach had arrived to early.

"He said he would explain later, but they needed an ID on the body as soon as possible." Brennan stared down at the bloody remains, the deep gouging wounds along her chest and her legs. She noted significant mutilation and the lack of skin. The woman, and she knew it was a woman from a cursory glance at the pelvis, had been stripped of the majority of her flesh and what was left was the bloody bones. Around her ankles, scarlet soaked rope held the fleshiest parts of her legs together. Whoever had murdered her had not untied her to skin her.

Brennan swallowed, lifting her eyes to Zach again. "It's not a very nice sight, first thing in the morning, is it?" He commented, wincing as he spoke. Brennan blinked.

"It certainly is not," she agreed. But, work wasn't always pleasant and it was her job, and Zach's to determine, as requested by Booth, who the woman was. And the fact alone that the FBI agent was not there to greet her was proof of it's importance. He had somewhere else he needed to be, and she didn't doubt his urgent departure was related to the woman on the gurney. "So, Zach, where would you like to start?"

The young assistant straightened his back, as if in preparation, and squared his shoulders. "I think we should untie her, Dr Brennan," he said. "Then we should clean her bones." Brennan knew that, after the preliminaries were completed, the hardest part of her job began. And since there was much examination of the remains to be done, she knew her day would be a long one.

"I need a vacation," she murmured, pulling a pair of gloves unto her hands.

"We all know how your vacations turn out," Zach commented, already working on the bloody bindings. Brennan smiled a little.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Maybe someone should leave me in Fiji for a few weeks, huh?" She caught the smirk on Zach's face, and was glad to have someone who was perpetually on her wave length working along aside her.

"You'd probably still find bones to examine. Uh, Dr Brennan," he held up the loosened rope in one hand, and the broken remains of Jane Doe's foot in the other. "Someone broke her ankles," he said.

It was definitely going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **By the Blade

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters, nor am I making a profit out of writing about them – much to my own distain.

**Rating: **This story will probably be rated M. Until that chapter comes, I'll rate it T.

**A/N: **Thank you to anyone who reviewed the last chapter. I am grateful that you are reading, and I hope you will continue to do so.

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Special Agent Daniel McKenzie had been awake for most of the night, thanks to a pregnant wife and terrible insomnia. He'd drank everything from cocoa to a small glass of malt whiskey to coax sleep. It had remained evasive up until he received the call from the Bureau requesting that he make himself immediately available.

He hadn't slept since, and it was now past lunch.

Seeley Booth passed him a cup of coffee which he gratefully accepted.

"How's Ashley?" He asked, stirring long-life cream into his own. McKenzie shrugged.

"She's the classic cliché of a pregnant woman," he admitted. "Pickles and cravings and I don't know what…" Booth chuckled, braving the fool tasting coffee without a wince. "She'll not be pleased to know about this," McKenzie added, gesturing to the glossy prints on the desk. Booth sighed.

It was the fourth victim in a month. She was the only one, thus far, however, that they'd been unable to identify. Much to his regret, he'd been forced to include Brennan in the investigation. He was more than certain she could handle the imagery and the dire realities of the case, but he was in an old-fashioned way, reluctant to expose a woman to the realism that was police work. Plus, he couldn't explain it, but the murders felt him chilled inside.

"There's no pattern," he commented to McKenzie, his assigned partnership – although McKenzie was essentially the SAC.

"No, there is not. We have a dead lawyer, a small time actress, a shop assistant and now this one… have your Squints found anything, yet?" Booth shook his head, wondering how long it would be before Angela had a face. The forensic artist had never been wrong. Her sketches were always on the money, and he hoped today would be no different.

"Brennan will work every hour God sends, until she finds what we need. I can guarantee you that," Booth said. "Get some lunch, McKenzie. You look like shit." His colleague snorted, murmuring something about looking after a pregnant woman and hunting sick murders.

When he left the room, Booth pulled the photographs across the desk towards him and examined the images with a subdued stare. It was important, frighteningly so, that he be as focused and unbothered as possible. Unfortunately it wasn't always easy not to feel. Temperance Brennan had it down to an art. He suspected he'd be pouring over Jane Doe's skeleton right now with her usual clinical precision. Even if they did get her name, Brennan would never use it.

She had been so brutally skinned, that the only distinguishing feature was her vibrant red hair, soaked in blood. She'd been found in an alley way in the darkest part of town. It was coincidental that Booth had heard two agents talking about a homicide down at the docks the night before. She had red hair, too.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and Booth pushed the photograph away, flipping the phone apart. He barely had time to speak his name before he heard the biting, hurried and no-nonsense tone of Brennan, launching into a nonsensical spiel about bone shards, knife marks and techniques of identification. When she'd finished, he ran his tongue over his lips and sighed.

"Have you got a positive ID on my victim, yet?" In response, Brennan sighed.

"Her name is Julie-Anne Jensen she-"

"You're kidding…" Booth shook his head, slowly. "_The_ Julie-Anne Jensen?" He asked. He sensed Brennan's confusion, and how she would probably have no means of knowing who she was. Every heterosexual man in America would, however, and when the news of her death broke, it could be a media circus. "She's a glamour model, Bones." Brennan sucked an acknowledging breath that sounded like an 'Oh' into her lungs. "Shit…" This is not what the FBI needed. Not what he needed, either. "I'll be over soon, I have to explain to Agent McKenzie about this…"

"Booth?" Brennan's voice, persistent and slightly aggravated pierced the web of thought that reeled though his mind. "Are you going to explain what's going on or am I supposed to guess?" He almost wanted her to guess, explaining would take too long. He needed to get so many things done before all Brennan had to do was turn on the TV to find out what happened.

"I will be over soon, and I will explain then, I promise," he paused. "Thanks Bones, we'd be lost without you." He ended the call, realising that his words were enormously true. Without the forensic team at the Jeffersonian, they'd be screwed, time and time again. Brennan and her people had put away more killers than he cared to count.

McKenzie stepped into the room, carrying two wrapped sandwiches and another cup of coffee. Good stuff – not coffee that had been brewing for two weeks.

"Hey, I got you tuna fish. Do you like tuna?" He asked, passing one of the parcelled bundles into Booth's hand.

"Sure. Brennan's just off the phone. They got an ID on our victim." McKenzie seemed to wait with wide eyes and bated breath. The anthropologist had done it again – got a result – and Booth was inexplicably proud to be associated with such a brilliant woman. His pride was tarnished only by the knowledge that their victim had a much higher status in society than those before. "Julie-Anne Jensen the-"

"Nude model? No way!" McKenzie's hand seemed to shake. "He's being insanely bold, killing a woman like that…" Booth dipped his head in agreement. "We going to speak with your lady doctor?" McKenzie asked, and Booth wondered at how everyone, including himself, thought of Brennan as 'his'. It was a damn dangerous assumption, and one she would not take kindly to.

He made a mental note to mentioned to McKenzie on the way over.

For now, he needed to pay attention and find a way to keep the woman's identity under wraps.

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Trying to do a little bit of mystery and a little bit of romance. Want to take it slowly…

Do you like?


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: By the Blade**

**Disclaimer: These characters, except the sadistic ones, are not mine.**

**Rating: M, and for those who want to know, it'll be rated as such for sex.**

**A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews, thus far. I hope you'll continue to read!**

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"**Live by the sword," Jeff Harbourne said, striking a match that filled the little shack with light. He drew the flame to a cheap cigar, and sucked the essence of tobacco into his lungs. **

"**Die by the sword," Jerry replied, nodding slowly. "And since I use a gun?" He smirked cockily, noticing that it was snowing again. He took a swig of brandy from the flask he kept inside his pocket. **

"**It'll be a bullet that takes you out, my friend," Jeffery said, pulling the drapes. "I can't say I agree with the level you've stooped to. A trained assassin, taking money so someone else can kill them?" Jerry shook his head, as if unable to comprehend the logic.**

"**I'm not even sure he kills them, Jeff. Maybe he roughs them up in a little sex game or whatever, but either way, I don't care. Five grand a pop…? I'm in. Beats taking the flack for murder." He'd been trained by master assassins, men who'd been doing the job for forty years, and he'd learned well. But he was almost fifty himself – and he didn't have the stamina to run, like he used to.**

**Twenty years was enough for him.**

"**You've become a coward," Jeffery said, propping his feet on the coffee table. Jerry didn't think his friend had much right to talk. He lived his tired life in a little wooden hut, shivering and alone. Jerry might have been alone, but he was making a fortune.**

"**I killed one last night," he admitted, pleased at the twinkle in Jeff's eye. "Brings back a buzz." Jerry hated to admit his sadistic nature, but they'd been trained together. Jeff understood. "She was a…"**

"**Don't speak ill of the dead, Jerry," he warned, wiggling his finger as though he were righteous, as though he hadn't murdered dozens of people. Maybe more. "What happened?"**

"**She turned vicious. I was taking her back for… him," Jerry explained. "Dumb bitch," he straightened his tie and took a second swig of brandy. "Sorry," he apologised in response to Jeffery's glare. "Anyway," he lifted his flask in a mock toast. "To Christmas, and being in the game." Jeffery didn't drink much, he had always figured a clear head made for a better assassin. He lifted his cigar, instead.**

"**To the game, old buddy. To the game."**

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**Temperance Brennan spun on her chair when her office door breezed open, and the atmosphere was immediately attracted to the dark haired FBI agent outside. Normally she'd have added 'cocky' and 'arrogant' to her mental description, but today, Booth looked anything but arrogant. He looked harassed, tired.**

"**Brennan," he said politely, stepping inside. Behind him, an equally tall, equally dark-haired agent followed. "Bones, meet Daniel McKenzie. Daniel, this is Temperance Brennan she's-"**

"**A genius from what I've been told," McKenzie said. "Nice to meet you, Dr Brennan." She took his outstretched hand and smiled tightly. He was slightly older than Booth, his dark hair was peppered with grey, but he still looked young enough to be handsome – in a much less rugged way than Booth. **

"**Likewise," Brennan said, turning in her chair to Booth, whose awkward stance, tight shoulders and perpetual frown notified her to something being amiss. "So," she said, crossing her legs and folding her hands on top of her desk. "Are you going to fill me in?"**

**His immediately answer was to groan loudly and slouch back into her couch, his eyes weary. She suspected his sleep had been disturbed. "Julie-Anne Jensen is only one. One of four," he said, at last. "But she's famous, and her disappearance is likely to make news pretty soon," he levelled his gaze on hers. "It goes without saying, Bones, that your complete confidence is required on this." She blinked, indignant.**

"**If it goes without saying, Booth, then why say?" McKenzie flickered his gaze to his newly assigned partner, gnawing his lip. **

"**It's a figure of speech, Bones," Booth explained patiently. **

"**I know it is," Brennan replied testily. "I just dislike the suggestion that I am less than discreet in my job." She straightened in her chair, and unfolded her legs. Booth studied her expression for a long moment, then, upon realising that he'd hurt her feelings, murmured an apology, which she graciously accepted. "She was raped," Brennan said softly, as though it were information she'd rather not reveal. "Her… vaginal tissue, or," Brennan swallowed, unwilling to accept that the woman's gruesome death was effecting her. It was not. But it was disturbing. "What was left of it, showed significant signs of trauma. Several of her bones were broken, including her ankles. So badly so that, when Zach untied her, her feet just… fell off." Booth looked queasy, his lips were tight. **

**McKenzie inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. "We're dealing with one sick bastard, huh?" Brennan blinked.**

"**That's rhetorical, right?" She asked.**

"**Yes, Bones," Booth hurried to answer. "Go on." Brennan clicked her mouse a few times, and the newly cleaned bones, arranged perfectly on the examination table flicked up on her screen. She tilted the monitor towards Booth and McKenzie, zoomed in on the neck, and circled an area with her fingernail.**

"**The bones are crushed so badly, it's almost as though someone stood on her neck and broke it." McKenzie was shaking his head, slowly, his eyes bright as he glared at the image. "And we found this," Brennan opened her drawer and removed a clear plastic bag. At the bottom, a platinum band topped with an enormous princess cut diamond lay. "We checked it for evidence, but all the blood was hers. Hodgins cleaned it. It was in her mouth…" Booth blinked, taking the bag between his finger. **

**The stunning gem caught the light, and sparkling imperially. "You're looking at a ring worth almost a million dollars," he said. "I remember reading about her. She got engaged last year." Brennan scoffed.**

"**I can only imagine what magazine you read it in, Booth," she said, rolling her eyes. Booth didn't deny her accusation, perhaps because he was so enthralled in the monetary value of the jewel he held in his hand. "You should probably get in touch with her fiancé. Couldn't he be involved?" Booth's attention was drawn now.**

"**No," he said. "Tony Alvarez was killed in a plane crash two months ago. She was never seen wearing this ring since…" **

"**I never had you pegged you as someone into celebrity gossip, Booth," Brennan said, glancing sideways at him. He caught her gaze, held it and she was forced to look away. She'd noticed recently that Booth was almost hypnotic at times. She stared instead, at the broken neck on her monitor. **

"**Bones, I wasn't checking her out for the gossip, you do know that, right?" She pushed her chair back and brushed past him.**

"**I do now," she said, smirking. "Anyway, you should take that down to the FBI. Angela has a drawing, if you want to see it… just to confirm, of course." Booth nodded. **

**And then he needed to work out exactly how he intended on breaking the news that one of the nations biggest and hottest glamour models was dead.**

**Sometimes he hated his job.**

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**Reviews feed my soul and make me happy.**


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